Up in Flames
by Alex Stark
Summary: My version of what should happen following the conclusion of "Good Soldier". Mild Spoilers. An intricate look into the intertwined lives of the Weston clan, Fiona Glenanne, good ol' Sam Axe, and the nefarious Carla. Pairing: Michael/Fiona.
1. Tragedy

**A/N:** I am a die-hard fan of the USA series; Burn Notice. So, I just had to come up with something to showcase my obsession ;). I love the show and I absolutely adore Jeffrey Donovan; he's incredible! I just wish he'd get more publicity; he sure deserves it. I'm willing to bet he might though, after his turn in _Changeling_ coming up in November.

**Spoilers:** For the conclusion of _Good Soldier_ (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. But, if I was Michael Westen, I probably could come up with some way to wrangle some kind of profit out of this. Hmmm …

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**Fiona's POV**

I glanced at the clock on the dash: 4:15.

Michael'll probably be home. I told I was going to stop by to check up on things around 4:30 or so, but being early never hurts. Especially in this line of work.

As I swing into the drive to his place, I get the distinct feeling that something is very, very wrong. And when I get that feeling, I'm always right. I slow my car and stare critically at the top of his building that I can see over the bushes and fences.

Suddenly, my entire world shatters as a violent tremor jolts my car and I see a huge ball of flame erupt from the spot where I had just been staring: the top of his stairwell.

"Michael …" My voice is hardly a whisper as I try to make sense of what has just happened.

I numbly slam on the gas, speed the last 50 yards to the remains of his home, and leap out of the driver's seat. I sprint towards the prone figure sprawled on the cement, and it feels as though it takes me an entire lifetime to get there. I know Sam's already called the paramedics, but I need to be there first.

The moment I reach him, I can't stop the hot tears from trickling down my cheeks. I can't tell if he's conscious, or even alive. From what I can see, it looks like he fractured his right arm in the fall from his landing, there are some burns covering the left side of his neck and face, and he's got a rather nasty laceration at his temple. I reach and gently search for a pulse at his left wrist. There! It's not as strong as I'd like it, but it's there.

"Michael! Michael!" I call, gently patting his uninjured cheek.

He doesn't respond, and my heartbeat escalates as I become increasingly frantic.

"Don't you die on me, Michael Westen, don't you dare!" I shout, not actually sure what it is I'm angry at.

"Damnit, Michael! Don't leave me again … please …" My voice trails off as my heart finally breaks.

I tried moving on, I tried inviting another man into my life, but nothing worked. Campbell was a nice guy, but I realized I wanted Michael and no one else. Sure, I suppose not many people would expect me to be such a hopeless romantic, but that's what's under all my layers of hard-core, tough-girl exterior.

Now, it's too late. Michael is alive, but I might not be able to talk to him again.

I simply lay my head on Michael's frighteningly still chest and let the tears flow as I hear the sirens approaching.

**To be continued …**


	2. Back from the Dead

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A/N:

Here's Chapter 2, as promised. I'm so glad _Flames_ has received such a positive response; many thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**Spoilers:** For the conclusion of _Good Soldier_ (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. I really wish Michael Westen belonged to me

**Michael's POV**

That explosion was something; I think I could actually feel my eardrums rupture from the blast as I was flipping over the railing. Definitely not something you want to encounter on a day-to-day basis.

I don't think it actually registered in my brain that the cement was coming up as fast as it was until I actually made impact with it. I can't remember much except for blacking out the moment my skull connected with the ground.

Well, if I'm dead, it sure isn't as bad as everyone says it is.

I can't feel any pain, I can hardly hear what going on around me, and I can't see anything at all. Wait ... my eyes are closed ... hmmm ...

As I try to open them, I'm immediatly greeted with a blinding white glare. I proceed to squint my eyes as tightly as I possibly can, and try again. There, I can actually make out some random shapes.

Then, my sense of touch and feeling returns. And what exactly is that weight on my chest? It feels like some debris or something fell on me. I tilt my head forward so that I can look down along my body and am greeted with a lancing pain down my spinal cord ... Ouch, wrenched neck.

Finally, I manage to focus on the slightly blurry shape and realize that it is _moving_? I blink several times in succession and realize that the moving shape is definitely a person ... it's ... _Fiona_?!

What the hell is she doing here?! She was supposed to be over sometime around 4:30; it wasn't even 4:15 when I accidentally set off my personalized death trap. She could've been killed! How long has she been here? And wait ... she's buried her face in my shirt and she's crying?! Fiona ... _crying_?! Why isn't anything making sense right now?

Fiona, _my_Fiona, doesn't cry. Even when she sees me come back to my warehouse/apartment beaten half to hell, she's always been able to get over any feminine reservations regarding injuries and help me out. She's not exactly the delicate and sensitive type, although she's actually been a bit more nervous during these past few months than usual. Now, she's sobbing into my shirt and gripping it as though it's the only thing preventing her from drowning in some storm-tossed ocean.

I try to move my right arm to place it gently on her shoulder, but grimace as a bolt of pain shoots up the length of my arm. Yep, definitely fractured or broken. Well, I won't be moving that one, I'll try the other one. I lift my left hand and gently touch her shoulder:

"Fi ..." I manage, my voice slightly raw from having inhaled the scorched air from the explosion.

She surpises even me with her reaction.

She lets out a sharp squeal of fright and surprise, and quite literally jumps out of her own shoes as she tumbles gracefully backwards.

I can't help but chuckle quietly as she recovers enough to send me a glare powerful enough to torch a hole straight through a brick wall.

"Michael! Don't you ever pull something like that again! You scared the living daylights out of me!" She admonishes, frustratedly trying to pull her composure back together.

"I'm sorry, Fi. I didn't really mean to do anything. Did you really think I was dead?" I asked, cocking my head slightly out of habit.

"I checked your vitals and figured that out for myself. You weren't coming around though; I didn't know what was wrong with you. I thought that maybe ..." She turns away for a moment as her thought trails off.

"You though what, Fi?" I prod, gently touching her shoulder with my good hand.

"I thought that maybe ... I'd lost you. I thought you'd suffered some sort of brain damage from the fall and you weren't going to wake up." She finishes quietly, still refusing to meet my gaze.

"You were really worried about me." I state, trying to figure out what she still wants to say.

"Of course I was worried about you! You go and almost get yourself blown up, how could I not be?!" She responds almost irritably, meeting my gaze for a brief moment before returning to stare at the horizon.

As I process her response, something manages to penetrate my slightly sluggish and pain-fogged brain: she still cares. I've tried to figure out if we could still salvage something from what we had for the longest time, but it's really been right in front of me the whole time. I decide to take a risk and reach out.

"Fi ..." My voice is soft but commanding.

"Yes, Michael?" She turns to meet my gaze, her features slightly hard.

"You're all I've got ... I just wanted you to know that." I reply, making sure to maintain eye contact with her.

Suddenly, her face softens and I can see tears shining in her eyes.

"You're all I have too, you know." She responds, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

I smile slightly, then grimace as my right arm gives as particularly painful throb.

"The paramedics are on their way ... don't worry." Fiona immediately catches the slip in my normally unreadable features.

"With you and Sam as back-up, I never have to worry, Fi." I reply, tiredly closing my eyes as I hear tires screeching to a halt in the drive and the slapping of approaching feet.

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**To Be Continued ...**


	3. Revelations

**A/N: **And back, by popular demand, Chapter 3! I'm so glad _Flames_ has received such a positive response; many thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**Spoilers:** For the conclusion of _Good Soldier_ (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. I REALLY wish Michael Westen belonged to me. Then again, I actually wish Jeffrey Donovan belonged to me. But, life isn't fair and that's just how it goes.

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**Michael's POV**

**Several hours later at the hospital ...**

The doctors looked me over, bandaged me up, put my "fractured" arm in a brace, then sent me to the waiting room to await the arrival of my posse.

My posse includes the likes of Fi, Sam, and Mom. Nate might've been here, but he's currently not able to go anywhere, really. Hey! I was working on getting him out of the hole he's managed to dig himself into this time when I got blown out of my own apartment.

Waiting Rooms drive me nuts. I'm naturally unable to stay in one place for an extended period of time, so these things are literally a legalized form of torture.

So far, I've paced the room 17 times, counted how often the receptionist has inquired "How can I help you?" over the phone (25 times), and done 5 sets of crunches to keep myself occupied. I think the crunches kind of freaked out the kid sitting opposite me. And I've only been in here for half an hour.

Now, I'm mentally counting down the seconds until Fi arrives. I know she'll be first, Mom'll be second, and Sam'll be bringing up the rear.

_7 ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... thwap!_ The door flies open.

Oops, she's early.

I look up from my uncomfortable plastic seat and lock eyes with her. She looks slightly harried, tired, but also extremely relieved.

"Hi." I state simply.

"Hi, yourself" She responds, her voice softer than the tone she normally uses with me.

She takes the empty seat next to me and stares out of the double glass doors. For a few moments, we remain silent. With Fiona, this usually isn't a good sign. But, I think today is a bit different.

"So, how are you?" She uses the tried and true tactic.

"Better than I was. You know, I don't like using pain meds, but Vicodin really does wonders once your broken extremity is un-numbed." I reply, my attempt at my usual glib humor falling completely flat.

Her lips curve into a slight smile and she finally turns to looks at me.

"Michael ..." She begins.

"Yeah." I reply, turning to face her as well.

"I really thought I lost you today." She finishes, her voice soft.

"I kind of thought it might've been the end of the road, too." I respond, thinking back to the moments before I went flying off my landing.

"I never realized how much this whole things was going to take out of all of us." She muses, once again turning her gaze to the doors.

"I just can't wait till it's all over. I'm tired of all these clues, I just want some answers." I reply, keeping my gaze trained on her face.

She turns once again to face me and meets my gaze. We look into each other's eyes for a moment, and I feel as though we're both understanding what we're trying to say to one another without actually saying anything.

Then, Fi leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. God, it's been so long since she's done that. I feel my eyes close of their own accord and as I start to turn my head, I feel her suddenly sit bolt upright.

My eyes snap open only to see Fi looking pointedly at Mom and Sam as they come bustling into the room.

I discreetly roll my eyes toward the ceiling and turn on my mega-watt grin for the late arrivals.

"Dear God, Michael. I came just as soon as I heard the news from Fiona. But there was so much traffic, I just couldn't believe it-" I cut her off mid-sentence.

"Mom, it's ok. Thanks for coming. It was really nice of you." I reply, laying my good hand on her shoulder to temporarily calm her down.

"Hey Mikey, just thought I'd drop by to check in on the invalid." Sam quips, earning an annoyed slap on the shoulder from Fi.

"Oh, thanks for giving me the heads up, Sam. I think I have you to thank for the condition I'm in right now, rather than the condition I could be in on a coronor's slab." I return his jab and he nods graciously.

"No problem, old buddy. Hey, I've gotta split, but I'll meet you over at your place tonight for some post-hospital partying ... your treat." He responds, quickly beating a hasty retreat as I send a death glare in his direction.

"Michael, I've got to get going too. I've got a date tonight and I'm already running a bit late. I'll check in tomorrow." Fi says as she turns slowly to exit the waiting room.

"Fi ..." I call.

"Yes, Michael?" She responds, turning once as she slides on her designer shades.

"Thanks for coming by." I reply, mentally smacking myself for not being able to come up with something smarter.

"See you tomorrow, Michael." She says, striding gracefully out of the hospital.

I watch her retreating back until she disappears around the corner. Then, my mom brings me back to the present.

"You should give it another try." She says, cryptically.

"Give what another try, Mom?" I ask exasperatedly.

"The two of you. You should give it another try." She gestures dramatically to make her point.

"Mom, to be honest with you, advice on romance is the last thing I want to hear from you right now." I reply, rising to my feet and beginning to make my way out of the hospital in front of my mom.

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**To be continued ...** (because Michael can be a complete idiot and not see an opportunity even when it's staring him in the face)


	4. Always a Catch

**A/N: **Chapter 4 is here! It's a tad short though; I'll be sure to make it up to all of my amazing readers with an extra-lengthy Chapter 5 :)! Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed:

**immortalisforever**, you always manage to make my day … **bananas.eat.grapes**, your compliments made me smile :) … **WynonaRose**, you made me blush into my pillow … you're all the best!

**Spoilers:** For the conclusion of _Good Soldier_ (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. I REALLY wish Michael Westen belonged to me. Then again, I actually wish Jeffrey Donovan belonged to me. But, life isn't fair and that's just how it goes.

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**Michael's POV**

**The next morning …**

Sometimes, I really wish I was someone else living some other life. I grew up being taught that life isn't fair; that you need to make your own way in the world. But sometimes, I really feel like letting someone else do the heavy lifting.

And right now is _definitely_ one of those times.

My mom has not stopped calling once every hour since we left the hospital yesterday afternoon and Sam didn't exactly do the greatest job in the world of helping me clean up my place once we got over there. I still haven't heard from Fi as to when she might be stopping by and I guess I'm just feeling a bit sorry for myself.

Right now, I'm sprawled out across my couch in a pair of jeans and the only t-shirt I could get into without twisting my arm in some rather painful direction, and staring at my semi-scorched ceiling.

Yes, you may be wondering why I'm back in my apartment after the little incident yesterday. But the truth is, I hate relying on others for favors because you'll have to pay them back eventually and that usually comes at a rather inconvenient time for you. Yeah, my little rant may seem contradictory to this, but that's just who I am; a rather exhausted and contradictory person.

I gave my place a complete sweep, along with some of the cops that showed up after the incident, and they pronounced it safe to occupy once again. I didn't really need their go-ahead, seeing as I had already checked every nook that I figured Carla might utilize to blow me half to hell again, but it never hurts to be safe rather than sorry.

I really want someone to talk to. I hate talking to myself … it gets extremely boring rather quickly. I normally don't adore being extremely social, but I guess it's something left over from yesterday. Post-traumatic Stress Syndrome, that's what the medical types call it. We covert-ops types call it "weirding out".

Geez, nearly getting blown up by the person you're "working for" can have some strange side-effects.

A loud and slightly piercing sound yanks me from my wandering thoughts and sends me crashing to the floor in a surprised heap.

Ouch. That's going to hurt.

As I glance up, I realize that the extremely irritating sound is the ring tone Fiona set as her ID on my phone.

I grumble irritatedly about ridiculous feminine ring tones, then flip open my silver RAZR.

"Hello?" I inquire as politely as I can.

"Michael … where are you?" Her voice is a welcome relief.

"Home, where else?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I didn't know if you had gone over to your mom's place or Sam's. Frankly, I really have no idea what you're up to when you haven't recruited me for a job lately." Her response seems odd.

"Sorry to disappoint. Hey, are you coming over?" I tactfully change the topic.

"Yeah … I'm actually standing in your driveway right now." Her tone suddenly springs a warning in my mind.

"Oh! I'll be right out." I respond, but I don't move a single muscle.

The game's up. Somehow, in the space of a single evening, Carla was able to find Fi and subdue her. I don't know if it's actually Carla who's holding the gun to Fi's head, but I'm getting the distinct feeling it's one of her hitmen.

Now, as I fine tune my attention to the connection, I can hear background noise … background noise that consists of several masculine voices accompanied by the melodious harmony of automatic weapons.

"Michael … are you alright?" That's her signal; if she's ever in trouble, she always asks if I'm alright. That way, I know that she's the one in danger and I'm the one who needs to call in the cavalry.

"Hold on a minute, I've just got to get a pair of pants on … Ok, there we go." I reply, shuffling my hands on the couch to mimic the sounds of clothing.

Before I hang up, I can hear the distinct male voices laughing at my response. Excellent … four Carla-trained hitmen. These guys shouldn't be that hard to deal with. As long as I've got the cavalry coming over the nearest hill. And as long as Carla isn't with them.

I snatch my automatic from my countertop and quickly grab my landline to dial Sam's number. He picks up on the first ring and I manage to lower my voice to a whisper:

"Sam … I'm in the middle of a stake-out at my place and I need some back-up … asap."

"You got it, Mikey." He responds in kind and abruptly hangs up.

Once I hang up, I deftly slip my brace off and flex my arm. It twinges slightly but I'm able to ignore it as Fiona's beautiful face flashes across my mind.

Damn you, Carla. Damn you for threatening Fiona.

My vision flashes red as I press my shoulder against my door.

"Let's do it." I mutter, shoving open the door and striding out into the open.

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**To be continued … **(Wow, that turned out way differently than I had originally planned ... oh well!)


	5. Stand My Ground

**A/N: **Chapter 5 is here! Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed:

**gmkpgd** – Thanks for dropping by! … **fishylishy** – That was a really sweet comment :)!

**Spoilers:** For the conclusion of _Good Soldier_ (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. I REALLY wish Michael Westen belonged to me. Then again, I actually wish Jeffrey Donovan belonged to me. But, life isn't fair and that's just how it goes.

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**Michael's POV**

The first thing any intelligent operative does is assess the situation they are about to enter.

Unfortunately for me, this really isn't an option.

All I've got are audio estimates from the time I was on the phone with Fi. I could tell there were approximately three guns-for-hire waiting for me and one was holding Fi.

However, the part I neglected to pay attention to was the fact that their little sting operation was far too well-organized to have been simply orchestrated by Carla. No. By the time I actually make it outside, I realize that Carla is indeed lying in wait with them.

Damn.

Just when I thought things might be getting a little bit easier.

I remain in the shadows behind the remnants of the staircase to my second floor, and try to construct a plan on the fly as I survey their positions.

Sure enough, there are three of Carla's hit men prowling around the black Buick sedan. They've all got automatic Glock 23s and are looking like they've got some itchy trigger fingers.

I unconsciously finger my own Glock 22, shoved into the make-shift holster I managed to attach around my torso at the small of my back, and attempt to spot Fi. Finally, I see her being used by Carla as a human shield on the other side of the Buick.

Carla and her men are obviously in no hurry, and haven't started the overly-dramatic "Michael, I will give you 10 seconds to lay down your gun and come out with your hands up" fluff that gets written for all those spy movies.

Carla, however, somehow manages to be stupid enough to crane her neck around Fi's head in order to try and gain sight of me.

With that slip, I realize that she's desperate. Desperate for me to come quietly, or for her boss to have my head, I'm not sure. But something, or someone, is suddenly dangling a deadline in front of her now.

This, I can easily play to my advantage.

"Michael … we haven't been playing by the rules lately, have we?" Carla's unbelievably irritating voice grates along my nerves.

"Carla … I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea what you're referring to." I respond flippantly.

"Now, now, Michael. You and I aren't even supposed to be having this conversation. You were supposed to be gone, erased, bumped off the radar. But, I suppose you don't take hints well, do you?" She retorts, her tone biting and bitter.

"Well, why don't you just come on over and we can straighten things out? I've got all day." I respond as lightly as possible, discreetly tilting my head around a metal pole to get a better look at Fiona as Carla slowly moves into view.

Fi looks tired, slightly beaten, but incredibly pissed off. She's gagged, has her hands handcuffed behind her back, and doesn't look as though she's been treated with a lot of respect. And with Carla's gun to her skull, there's not much she can be doing.

"Michael, you have two choices. One: You come out and surrender, and both you and your girlfriend live. Two: You come out and fight, and both you and your girlfriend die. It's up to you." Carla finally delivers the ultimatum.

While I process the given options (as well as some back-ups I've constructed under a time constraint and which hopefully don't involve carnage and death), Carla's thugs begin pacing restlessly around the car. I can hear their bored and frustrated mutterings.

Then, I decide to initiate my "surrender". I know Sam's already on his way, but the cavalry is taking a bit too long and Fi's life is under a bit of a deadline if I don't move fast.

I leave my somewhat protected hovel, and halt just beyond the damaged stairwell.

She watches my movements, and almost viciously shakes her head. Obviously silently screaming for me not to give in to Carla's threat.

I flash Fi my trademark smile, and grant her a small wink. She freezes, and simply stares at me, awaiting the inevitable imminent mayhem.

"That's right, Michael. No sense in wasting an innocent life, is there?" Carla smiles thinly, relaxing enough to ease her hold on Fi's arms.

"No, there's not. You win, Carla." I concede defeat, linking my hands behind my head as two of her hit men approach me with a pair of handcuffs.

"No need for those, boys. Finish him off." Carla's tone is suddenly steely as the men turn to her in surprise before turning back to me.

"Allow me." I snarl, lithely whipping out my Glock and firing two successive shots into both the thugs before taking aim at the utterly shocked Carla.

I pull the trigger and the round tears through her wrist, forcing her to drop the automatic held to Fi's temple and crumple to the ground with a scream of pain and anger.

Fi smartly drops to the floor and scoots behind the Buick as the last thug and I engage in a firefight.

I manage to somersault back behind my refuge, but not before I feel the blinding heat of a round catching me at my ribcage.

I whip back up, and fire three quick rounds at my opposition. Unfortunately, he dodges them all.

Then, I'm forced to flatten myself against the thick metal support beam as he comes back with a volley of five consecutive shots.

This entertaining exchange continues for approximately five minutes as we both reload and continue firing.

Finally, I've had enough. Enough hiding, enough fighting, and enough missions. I bring my Glock to bear and step out into open range of the gunman.

"You want me?! Here I am, go ahead!!" I shout as loudly as I possibly can, spreading my arms and gritting my teeth as I await the bullets.

I hear the sharp reports and automatically flinch, expecting the blinding pain, then complete darkness.

But strangely, nothing happens.

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**To be continued …**


End file.
